


A Lesson

by The_Pugnisher



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 12:39:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6470302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Pugnisher/pseuds/The_Pugnisher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock are working, probably for a case, in an Old Navy (because why not?).</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lesson

**Author's Note:**

> This is a flash fic written at 221 B Con in Atlanta. The prompts were: John, Sherlock, Retail Employment, Rimming, "It's too hard". More fluff than slash, but I want to put it out there because it was fun.

“He did what?” Sherlock asked quietly as he folded the millionth colored polo. 

John sighed. Did Sherlock ever listen to him? God, it was embarrassing enough the first time he said it. He barely spoke to his own therapist about something as asexual as what happened in the war, let alone what happened in the sack. Sherlock, however, wanted him to repeat this?! Here?! He folded pair of khakis, angrily, then put them down with a mumbled, “Shit…”

Sherlock ignored his cursing.

“He licked…” 

“It was rhetorical, John,” Sherlock quipped. “Honestly, I’m not deaf.”

“Well…Then…What?” John stumbled.

“I meant,” another stack of polo shirts folded, and set aside. “Why would anyone put their mouth there?”  
John was frustrated. Sherlock’s ‘intelligence’ and ‘wit’ often proved to be more agitating, than helpful. Though he did not want to admit it, he understood why most clients hated talking to the detective. Another pair of khakis folded, and he moved the stack to the bottom of the rack with a little too much force. The top pair unfolded. John snatched them up, bared his teeth as he refolded them, and hissed through his teeth, “I thought you knew everything. Oh! Wait. The earth revolves around the sun, I’m sorry.”

Sherlock was silent, his lips slightly pursed. 

John pushed the pair of khakis onto the stack and grabbed another pile to straighten; his movements sharp and exaggerated with annoyance.

“I’m always willing to rearrange the mind castle if there is something worth adding.”

John faltered. The pair of khakis he grabbed fell to the floor. Was Sherlock making fun of him? He risked a sideways glance up at the smug sounding genius. He could make out the subtlest hint of a smile at the corner of Sherlock’s mouth. John thought about all of the times that he had actually seen Sherlock smile and realized that this was one of the most prominent smiles he had seen on the other man’s face. What was going through his mind? 

“Andy…”

“Anderson,” John corrected automatically, “is that too hard?”

“Whatever. He can’t be given the opportunity to say that he knows something that I don’t.”

Sherlock let that answer hang in the air between them. 

Both of them silently folded the clothes wondering if the other meant what they said. 

“Are…,” John paused, then continued, “are you saying that?”

“Yes, John, I am. Now, hurry. The game is afoot,” Sherlock replied, then set down the final pile of polo shirts before he slinked away toward the changing rooms.

John ran a hand over his face. He took a step toward following Sherlock. He paused. He took a step back toward the khakis. He paused again, and looked over his shoulder in the direction the dark haired man had gone. He had the chance to teach Sherlock a lesson he would never forget. There was a moment of acceptance with this thought. The world was right. He could teach something to a master of everything. He knew that though Sherlock would feel amazing when John’s tongue finally breached the other man’s ass, John would forever have the knowledge that he had taught Sherlock about pleasure.

Today was a good day to work at Old Navy.


End file.
